Soldier of the Cross
by timenspace
Summary: A compassionate soldier is unexpectedly rewarded at the foot of the Cross. I am not good at summeries or at spelling. If it interests you, read it. Flame me all you want.


Marcus Longinus is a character of legend, on whom the character of Marco is based. The Bible is collective, no one owns it. I do own the characters of Marco, Brutos, and Lycia. Rated for blood, violence suggested.

My name is Marco. I'm not attractive in looks. I have a scar on my cheek. And when I become furious as I have done earlier, when punishment got out of hand, I will sometimes speak in a Briton accent, of whose race I am descended from. My men only dare laugh behind my back. Yes, I am the centurion in charge of this execution. However unjust it is, it does not matter. I'm here only to carry out orders from Pilate. And disobedience to orders is death. That's a Roman cohort for you. It's weird though. And the sky's gotten dark. Dark as pitch. Maybe it's from the Jewish rabbi hanging on the cross behind me. I don't know. I'm partially blind after all, I can't claim to everything when it comes to the divine. All I do know is I want as little part as possible in his death. My love, Lycia, she's over there weeping. Been crying since this morning when the sentence was passed. I wish I could hold her, and forget about what is going on. But I have duties to attend to. Mounted on my horse, I pace against the crowd, holding possible hecklers back, and possible family in. My guardsman holds a torch, and I carry my spear. Lightning slashes across the sky and I can see the crowd dissipating. Then Lycia walks up to me, only stroking my horse. She doesn't speak at first, she's holding back the oncoming tears.

I'm…sorry, I say.

She nods.

But the words don't seem to be enough.

Brutos is shouting at the crucified one again. Why cant he just leave the poor man alone to die in peace? Oh no, not Brutos. He could have worldwide fame for his cruelty, you never know. Earlier I caught him getting over-zealous with his abuses. He disobeyed orders and nearly killed the Galilean carpenter who claimed to be a king…or some crime like that. Had Him flogged within an inch of death. And did that satisfy Brutos? Oh no. He had to heap more pain on a man that was already claimed by death. Crown of thorns. Hey, my policy is to just do my job, and carry out orders, not torture prisoners unnecessarily. And he will pay for it. When he's sober. As I contemplate how I will punish him, the Galilean speaks again. He's weak, can barely talk. Lycia buries her head in my horse's neck.

Wait…what did He just say? Earlier he said something about forgiveness, but now he mentions Brutos. By name. As lightning slashes again, I strain my poor eyesight to see my underling. He's frozen, like a statue. I signal to the guardsman for my torch, and plant my spear in the ground. I hold up the torch to see. Yes, the women are all still there, weeping. But, Brutos? He's kneeling in the pool of blood at the Galilean's cross. Crying out in shame. Something about it touches me. We're killing no ordinary man today, I think with regret.

A priest in robes strides up to me. I squint at him, as I do with everyone. He glares at me. _Roman scum_, he thinks_._

"The Sabbath approaches," he says haughtily.

I nod only, waiting for demands of these pious people, who just hours earlier demanded their king's death. I will never understand these native people.

"Break their legs, you know our custom."

Flaming rage wells up in me. But the Galilean's scream of pain, shatters my angry thoughts. I don't understand the language, it's Aramaic, mine is poor. I nod stiffly to the pompous priest. I turn to Lycia, and she grabs the reins, and beckons me to hear her secret.

"Please, please, don't."

"It's the custom, I have to."

"Not Him, you don't."

"I have to. Orders. Soldiers, finish them."

Another cry from the cross. This time, I know exactly what He says: FOR LOVE.

An earthquake breaks out, throwing me from my horse and to the ground. What power. This Galilean is no mortal, He's Zeus, that's His name, somewhat modified in Greek isn't it? The earthquake is over as quickly as it begun.

Questions rise in my head, but Lycia cuts me off.

"See? He's dead." She says, starting to weep again.

"But there's no proof. He could have fainted." I argue lamely. But there is no point. Even I know the poor man is dead.

"Your spear. Do it, before they commence." I know she is right. I stride up to the cross, bathed in darkness, wielding my spear. My men are about to break his legs.

"Don't…" Brutos? Pleading mercy?

"He's dead," I say stiffly. "Here's the proof."

I am not called the First Javelin for nothing. I strike. Shoving my spear between the 3rd and 4th rib. It went in further then I intended, piercing His lung, then His heart. But even if He hadn't have been dead, He would have died instantly. I am too accurate to miss. Blood spurts out of the wound and runs down my spear. Now I'm guilty too, His blood stains my hands. I fall to my knees in shock. Tears spring involuntarily in to my eyes. Quickly I wipe them, only to see everyone's face clearly in the dim light. My inner thoughts cannot be held in.

"Truly He was the Son of God," I stammer. Lycia runs to me, embracing me tightly. My head against her chest. I want to see her face. Gorgeous eyes, and something I haven't noticed. She smiles.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. He said you would understand. We'll name our child in His memory."

"No." I say. "A God can't stay dead, unless all of us are wrong."

Flame me all you want. Any review is welcome. Even though this is my first submission.


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